Point of No Return
by stress
Summary: Love. Lies. Murder. Nothing more than a tragic tale of a disfigured newsboy, a wealthy young man and the vaudeville star they both loved. [Newsies and Phantom of the Opera crossover]
1. Prologue: Overture

Disclaimer: _I own nothing in this story except for the characters of Rose and Caity. The prominent newsie characters, such as Kid Blink, Jack Kelly & Medda, are copyrighted to Disney, while the story is loosely based on Gaston Leroux's novel, _The Phantom of the Opera

**--**

**POINT OF NO RETURN**

_Love._ _Lies. Murder.  
Nothing more than a tragic tale of a disfigured newsboy, a wealthy young man and the vaudeville star they both loved._

**--**

**Prologue  
**_Overture_

**--**

There, in the upstairs rigging of the Irving Hall stage, he sat, fingering the distorted flesh caused by an infection so strong that a mere eye patch could no longer hide it. He let out a small sigh as his hand fell as dead weight to his side and his one good eye, blue as the New York mid-summer sky, scanned the backstage area urgently. Yet, there was still no sign of Rose.

"Where are you, my dear?" he whispered to no one in particular before untangling his slim figure from the ropes and walking nimbly across the planks of wood, taking care to stay hidden in the shadows, as his footfalls landed without a sound. As reached the end of the last board, he pulled an eerily white plaster mask out from under his shirt and positioned it across his face. Once he was assured that it was in place, he ducked into the cove he had built into the ceiling and made for his attic abode. Caity would be performing soon and he must make himself ready.


	2. Chapter 1: Hannibal

Disclaimer: _I own nothing in this story except for the characters of Rose and Caity. The prominent newsie characters, such as Kid Blink, Jack Kelly & Medda, are copyrighted to Disney, while the story is loosely based on Gaston Leroux's novel, _The Phantom of the Opera

**--**

**POINT OF NO RETURN**

_Love._ _Lies. Murder.  
Nothing more than a tragic tale of a disfigured newsboy, a wealthy young man and the vaudeville star they both loved._

**--**

**Chapter One  
**_Hannibal_

**--**

Nineteen year old Rose Larkson sat at the gaudy bronze dressing table, glad to be in the sanctuary of her cramped room once more. The reflection in the streaky mirror offered the image of a striking albeit glistening young maiden, her light brown curls clipped back elegantly as if to draw attention to her milky complexion. It was her eyes, though, that made her noticeable; eyes that had garnered the attention of many an admirer. Said eyes, hazel in nature with just a hint of gold, seemed to sparkle regardless. Even now they shone as they narrowed and focused on her slender hand and what it held, gingerly: a single red rose, adorned with a black ribbon, which had been waiting for her when she had finished her final dance performance for the evening.

She continued to stare at the rose in wonder. It was not as if this rose was the first flower she had received. As one of Irving Hall's three principal dancers, Rose and her peers, consisting of her partners, Josephine and Analia, as well as the Irving Hall songbird, Caity Costello, frequently received gifts from delighted patrons. But, as the only performer to board, along with the owner of Irving Hall, vaudeville veteran, Medda Larkson, in the back rooms of the theatre, Rose was awarded with her own room, however cramped it may be; a room complete with a lock to which she alone held the key. And, while most gifts, coupled with admiring notes that told her which patron of the Hall was responsible for the gesture, were left at the front with either Medda or Les, the young man in charge of keeping peace within the theatre, this rose, sans note, had been laid out on her dressing table. Curiouser yet, the rose occupied the exact place where Rose had left her hair brush and simple white hair ribbon that afternoon, now missing; it was as if the unexplained presence of the rose with its black ribbon was a mockery of the possession that had been there a few hours earlier and was no longer seen.

"Rose? Rosie, honey, let me in."

Rose dropped the rose guiltily when she heard the urgent knock at her door. Fumbling as she reached for the rose, Rose stood and opened the door.

Medda Larkson swept into the room, her garish purple dress fanning out behind her. "Rosie, darling, how are you?" she cooed as she kissed Rose once on the cheek before sitting on the cot in the corner of the room.

Rose smiled warmly amid the cloud of perfume that followed her guardian wherever she went. "I'm fine, Medda. Fine," she said, glancing down at the rose she, again, held in her hand.

Medda looked over her niece, smiling, despite the fact that in the four years Rose had lived with her, since the death of her father, Medda's brother, led the young orphan to stay in Irving Hall, Rose always answered Medda's greeting with a "fine". "I'm glad, dear, because I have a favor to ask of you."

"Of course. What do you need?"

"I need you to take Caity's place and sing her closing number tonight."

Rose's grip around the rose tightened. She resisted the urge to cry out as the rose's thorns bit into her hand. "But, Medda, I'm a dancer -- I don't sing. Caity is the singer here; make her perform her own number."

Medda sighed and in that instant, when the plastic smile slid off of her face, she looked older than one would guess. "I can't. There's been an accident."

A wave of cold washed over her and, not for the first time, Rose felt as if someone unseen was watching her. "An accident? What kind of accident?"

"It was during Caity's song, 'Hive Full of Honey', the one she follows your last dance number with. She was up there, singing herself blue, when the backdrop came crashing down. She's not hurt, nor are any of the patrons," Medda hurried when she saw Rose's expression, "but she's shaken up enough to refuse to perform the closing number tonight. And I promised everyone a closer."

"What about Analia? Her voice is sweet," Rose suggested, trying not to meet her guardian in the eyes; Analia may have nimble feet but she sang as if she were a cat in heat.

"Rosie, dear, listen to your Auntie Medda. I know you can do this, I know you can sing," she said softly, yet firmly. She followed her statement with a meaningful pause in which she lowered her gaze to glance at the flower Rose still held in her right hand.

Rose followed Medda's eyes. When she saw where her aunt's eyes rested, she gave an involuntary shudder. After all, she had never sang for anyone before save her own reflection when she was sure that Medda had gone to some man's bed for the night. Yet, her aunt claimed to know that she could do it -- but how? And, again she found herself wondering: how did that rose find its way into her room?

And what about Caity? True, she was not a favorite among the dancers. With her long, flaxen hair, bright green eyes and songbird voice, Caity knew that it was she who brought in all of the customers, which in turn kept the Hall operating. If she refused to sing, the theatre would go under; it was that knowledge that led her to act like a primadonna. There was no way that she would miss a performance willingly, especially if it meant that Rose, a simple dancer, would take her place. The falling backdrop must have rattled her more than Medda thought.

And what about her aunt's sideways glance at the rose? Did she put it there? If so, how? Or why, for that matter? And where did her belongings go?

An endless array of questions swarmed around her head. Which would be the one she would bombard Medda with first? None, actually. Just as Rose opened her mouth, a knock at the door cut her off.

"Medda? You in there?" It was Toby, Medda's first assistant in the running of the Hall -- a clown, a candy peddler & a management assistant all rolled in one.

"Yes, Toby, I'm talking with Rosie," Medda called out as she approached the door and pulled it open.

Toby nodded once in greeting towards Rose but, out of respect, remained outside of the room. "I just wanted to tell you, Medda, that Mr. Kelly has arrived."

Medda's caked face broke into a genuine grin. "Thank you, Toby. Please let him know that I'll be with him shortly."

Toby nodded again and was gone.

Medda closed he door behind him and continued to smile. "Rose, my dear. It is more urgent now that you go out there and perform that closing number."

Rose had known her aunt long enough to be worried when she was smiling like that. "Who's Mr. Kelly?" she asked, half hoping to change the subject, half in curiosity. After four years, Rose had thought she knew all of her aunt's varied suitors, but the name of Kelly was unfamiliar to her. This was also the first of Medda's acquaintances that she had heard Toby refer to with respect, something that struck her as odd as well.

"Kelly?" Messa asked and Rose nodded. "He's this kid who used to haunt the theatre when he was younger. His father had been a friend of mine in my early days," she said as Rose's nod turned into an amused shake of the head, "so I got to know Kelly real well. He was a good newsie back then, but he's a fancy man now that he's grown. Got into money somehow a few years back and started a successful business out West. Now he's rolling in dough and coming back East to start a branch here. He always had a soft spot for this place, so I invited him here. Money like his could really help us out if he becomes a patron. And, if I remember correctly, if there was one thing that Kelly always liked about Irving Hall, it was that last closing number." Medda looked over at Rose and winked when Rose bowed her head. With that defeated action, Medda knew she would perform.

"Well, I ain't wearing Caity's costume – it shows too much," Rose said in a small voice, walking over to her dresser and placing the rose down. She reached for her hair brush to fix her curls and huffed when she remembered that her brush had disappeared earlier that evening. "But I will borrow her brush," she added before heading out of the room, resigned to sing the one number and be done with it.

Medda watched Rose look absently for her brush before exiting the room. Then, before she followed suit and left to watch her niece's first vocal performance onstage, she looked up and sighed. "There. I hope you're happy. Rose's gonna sing."

---

For the third time that night, he found himself hidden in the shadows of the upper rigging. But this time he knew, following the discussion in Rose's quarters, that tonight was the night. Tonight he would see her do more than dance -- tonight she would bring him to heaven with her voice.

Placing his knife, the knife he had used to cut the backdrop's chord, inside his dark vest, he rearranged his mask to ensure that it remained on his face as a cover. Though he knew no one was aware of his definite presence within the Hall other than Medda Larkson, he was very conscious that someone might glimpse him without his mask. Once he had confirmed its security, he then settled himself down on the planks to watch the show. Yes, tonight was the night.


	3. Chapter 2: Think of Me

Disclaimer: _I own nothing in this story except for the characters of Rose and Caity. The prominent newsie characters, such as Kid Blink, Jack Kelly & Medda, are copyrighted to Disney, while the story is loosely based on Gaston Leroux's novel, _The Phantom of the Opera

**--**

**POINT OF NO RETURN**

_Love._ _Lies. Murder.  
Nothing more than a tragic tale of a disfigured newsboy, a wealthy young man and the vaudeville star they both loved._

**--**

**Chapter Two  
**_Think of Me/Angel of Music/Little Lotte_

**--**

She finished her final note with flourish, holding it a count longer than even Caity normally would have done. As the cheers and catcalls of the crowd erupted around her, Rose smiled and bowed demurely, the rush of performing coursing through her. She waved out into the audience and, under the spotlight, it was easy to see that her cheeks were still flushed from the stage fright that plagued her momentarily at the start of the song. Her hazel eyes scanned the patrons hastily but to no avail. Medda was not there.

Preoccupied with searching out her aunt Rose was oblivious to the two sets of eyes trained on her: an adoring pair gazing down from the rafters and a mutinous one just off to the side; Caity had felt up to watching her understudy perform and, from the looks of it, was not happy with the performance – or the audience's reaction to it.

Shoving aside Medda's assistant, Caity waited for the curtain to drop before approaching Rose.

Or, better yet, she tried to approach the girl. However, once she got past Toby, she found that she was alone on the stage – Rose had exited from the other side.

Caity placed her hands on her hips and scowled. First the backdrop came crashing down during her last number – now she had been upstaged by Medda's brat? What exactly was going on at Irving Hall?

Suddenly a chill swept over the singer and she found her hands no longer on her hips. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms to fight the wave of cold, Caity dropped the scowl and looked upward. Not for the first time did she feel that someone was watching her from way up high.

---

Stepping off of the stage, Rose, still looking for her aunt, did not halt until she walked right into someone. A smile crossed her face when she saw the smirking face of Rae Kelly, a vaudeville extra employed by Medda. With long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, the petite girl, twenty-something though her stature denied her age, could be one of the stars of Irving Hall. Rae, however, was content in appearing in various skits and stage work to earn money. Having been living off of the street for most of her life, the money she made at Medda's was enough to garner room and board at a nearby apartment complex. Of course, though, Rae never spent her time there – she was almost always found in Irving Hall, either working or spending the night in one of Medda's backrooms.

Rose smiled up at the older girl before pushing her curls out of her eyes. "Hello, Rae. Didn't see you there."

"Of course not, Rosie. Not with those stars in your eyes," Rae teased before grabbing Rose's arm and leading her into the back area of the Hall.

Rose allowed herself to be brought backstage but when Rae began to lead them towards the backrooms, she shook her head. "Can we go get some air?" she asked, jerking her head towards the exit.

Rae shrugged, her long blonde braid resting on her shoulders as they moved. "Sure," she answered simply. She dropped Rose's hand and pushed open the back exit. "Hurry," she added, and walked down the steps that led to the outside exit.

Rose hid her giggle at Rae's pace – regardless, Rae was always quick. She assumed it was all the years served as selling newspapers in Manhattan, as well as running from the police; Rae had never gotten along with authority figures.

Her giggle caught in her throat when she followed Rae outside. The weather had dipped greatly reminding her that it was winter and the orchid dress she was wearing did nothing to keep her warm. Crossing her chest and hugging herself for body warmth, Rose grinned at Rae for the second time. The older girl, clad in a simply blouse and boy trousers – the clothes she wore when her on-stage work was done for the night, seemed oblivious to the cold. Instead, she was waiting for Rose to speak.

"Damn, it's cold."

Rae looked sternly upon Rose's innocent expression and couldn't swallow her laugh. "And put so eloquently," she added.

Rose opened her hazel eyes, and action that helped only to further her aura of innocence. "Do you expect any less of me, Rae?"

"I guess not – though, I'll tell ya, I never knew you had a set of pipes like those," Rae answered, one of her eyebrows rising in a quirk.

She felt her cheeks grew warm and wished the sensation would travel across her entire body. "Yeah, well," she began, and knew that her face was blushing even darker, "Medda needed a singer to cover for Caity, and she made me do it. I just hoped I did good enough."

"Good enough? Damn, Rosie, that was amazing! I tell ya, If we had known that you could sing like that, we would have told Medda to fire Costello ages ago," Rae replied, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the mention of Caity; there was no love between the pair.

"Oh," she answered quietly, willing her face to grow less crimson. For some reason, Rose grew unusually embarrassed at the mention of her singing voice.

"'_Oh'_," mimicked Rae, though the glint in her eye showed she was less than serious, "I just want to know where you learned to do all that."

Rose looked over at her friend thoughtfully. She opened her mouth to say something but, as if she thought better of it, closed it. She did this several times until Rae thought the girl was impersonating a fish. However, before Rae could voice such an observation, Rose was able to speak. "You know, Rae, I'm not too sure. I just started singing one day when I was alone in my room. When I was done, I could almost hear applause – I know that it sounds weird, and it happened just after I got here those years ago, so I could be making it all up now – but it made me think that maybe I could do it. Sing, I mean. I've been singing to myself whenever I got the chance, though this is the fist time I've had such an audience."

It was Rae's turn to look slightly confused. She wanted to remark on the imagined clapping, but, uncharacteristically, kept quiet. If hearing phantom cheering kept Rose confident enough to go onstage and sing, let her be slightly deluded. _As long as it got Costello out of Irving Hall_, she thought to herself before squeezing Rose's shoulder. When she felt the coldness of the flesh, she gestured to the door. "Come, Larkson, let's go in. It is kinda chilly out here."

"Whatever you say, Kelly," Rose answered with a slight roll of her eyes.

_Kelly. Just like that patron Aunt Medda was gushing about earlier…_

"Hey, Rae," she began, following her in through the exit, but pausing on the stairwell, "I know that your surname is Kelly – do you happen to know a Jack Kelly?"

Rae froze, her foot resting on the top step. "_Jack_ Kelly? By what misfortune do I have to hear that name again? I thought he went out West?"

Rose shrugged. "I don't know – Aunt Medda said that the reason I had to perform tonight was because of some rich hot-shot called Jack Kelly. Seems he used to be a newsie a couple years ago, and the pair of you share a name, I thought you might have heard of him."

Rae turned to face the exit as she stuck her nose up, a nasty look crossing her face. "Yeah, I know him. Real ass he was back then, can I only say that I hope he changed. I hear money does that to ya."

Rose nodded. "Medda was hoping that he might share some of his money with the Hall."

"You can never tell with him, though. Even when we ain't have more than two pennies to rub together, Kelly was always out looking for himself," Rae answered. "But, I'll say this – he used to love this place. Big fan of your aunt, he was."

"Aren't all the men in New York," Rose teased, before reaching up and pushing Rae forward. "Come on, I'm beat. Are you staying here tonight?"

Rae nodded. "I guess, especially since Medda seemed to disappear. Someone's gotta make sure that you don't hear no more mysterious noises in your room."

Rose blushed again, before following Rae out into the back are of the Hall. _Maybe it was a mistake telling Rae about that…_

---

"Rosie?"

For the second time that night, Rose heard knocking at her door. She grimaced slightly at the sound. Having just said goodnight to Rae, she wanted nothing more than to change into her nightgown and go to sleep. However, it seemed like Medda had different ideas. "Rosie, let me in, please."

She removed her second shoe, the first already lying at the foot of her bed. She placed them both under the mattress frame before beginning to shuffle towards the door. She paused when she something resting on her desk caught her eye. For the second time that day, a simple rose adorned with a white ribbon was placed on her dresser. She knew it to be another simply because it's predecessor was floating lazily in small vase on her night table; Medda had placed it there for her after she had agreed to perform that night.

The knocking went unnoticed as she picked the rose up. As quickly as she handled the flower, she dropped it. A single thorn bit into her thumb, leading a trail of blood to drip down the digit. She placed her thumb in her mouth, sucking gently to stop the bleeding. She glanced down at the offending rose before she remembered her aunt.

Quickly, Rose stumbled over to the door, pulling it open, just in time to trip over her shoe-less feet. She fell forward and found herself caught by a pair of strong arms. Surprised that she hadn't landed on the floor, Rose remained in this awkward position a beat longer than she should have before struggling to her feet. Medda, who had been standing next to the pair of arms – which, incidentally, were attached to a man, reached under her arms and helped her regain her balance. "Rosie," she began, stepping into the room and gesturing for the man to follow, "this is Jack Kelly."

A faint blush came to Rose's face as she looked up at the man. Tall and tanned, his handsome face smirking, he wore a dark suit, complete with a cowboy hat that covered his thick brown hair. She could hardly control her staring, especially after he bowed in front of her. As a friend of Medda's, Rose had assumed him to be much older, yet, the man seemed hardly over twenty-three – though every air of a wealthy gentleman, albeit new wealth, surrounded him, nonetheless.

"Rosie," he said after checking his reflection in the dresser mirror, "I must say that was one hell of a performance."

Her blush deepened; she didn't even notice it when he called her by her nickname. "Why, thank you, Mr. Kelly."

"You're welcome, Rosie. And, please, call me Jack."

"Thank you… Jack."

Medda smiled knowingly at the tension that seemed to have filled the small room. "Rosie, dear, Jack asked me to introduce the two of you to each other after your performance. He was quite taken with your singing," she added.

Jack laughed heartily. "I'm sure Medda remembers how much I used to love watching the closer at the Hall. It's one of the things I missed the most about New York after I moved out West."

Rose nodded, lowering her eyes demurely. She remembered what her aunt had said about Jack Kelly becoming a patron; disregarding Rae's less-than-flattering comments about him, Rose didn't think it would be a bad thing to see more of the man around Irving Hall.

Medda noticed the air of quiet that huddled around her niece. She nudged Jack in the side with her elbow before speaking. "Well, I think I hear Toby calling. Jack?"

"I'll be right behind ya, Medda," he answered, catching the hint behind the poke. Medda nodded once before stepping outside of the room. Jack rolled his eyes at Medda's tactlessness as he addressed Rose. "It's so nice to be back in the City, but I seem to be without a companion. Would you care to accompany me tomorrow night during the Hall's performances? Medda seemed eager to give you the night off, granted you perform the closing number tomorrow night. What do you say, hmm?"

Rose lifted her eyes up in surprise. This man was not asking her on a date, was he? Surely Medda had convinced him that her niece would be a sweet companion during his stay.

Either way, though, Rose found herself unable to deny his request. Shyly, Rose nodded.

A broad grin crossed Jack's face. He tipped his hat before stepping out of her room. "Til tomorrow then, Rosie."

"Til then… Jack."

---

It had been a stupendous evening. With a simple cut of a chord, Caity had been dispatched. With Medda's reluctant assistance, he was assured that Rose would secure the role of closing performer.

And, the young dear had risen to the occasion magnificently. Wearing a silk dress whose pastel color offset her own delicate features, he had been hard-pressed to focus on her voice rather than her beauty. In the middle of the bridge he had actually shut his one good eye so to resist other temptations. And he had been rewarded – her voice was exquisite.

He had assumed that the stage fright he had detected from her early on in the song would have resumed when the crowd cheered and that she would return to her quarters for the night. He was surprised when he observed her leaving the Hall with Rae. _Rae._ He remembered Rae – she had been kind to him before…

Disallowing thoughts of the past to cross his mind, he left the rafters and climbed down the rope that led to the small cove between Rose's room and a second spare room. Not shortly after her arrival as Medda's ward, he had installed a special two-way mirror so as to watch her sing. At least, that is what he told his conscience as he kept near-constant vigils behind the glass. Even to one so distorted by pain as he, he remembered the social standards. It was seen wrong for a man his age to leer after a young girl.

However, Rose was not a young girl any longer. And, unfortunately, as he viewed through the mirror when Medda brought that man along to her niece's room, he was not the only one to notice.

He had just clasped the mirror shut, leaving a token of his affection behind for the singer, when Rose returned to her room. Through his position on the otherside of the mirror, he saw Rose's puzzled expression at his gift. He felt for her when the thorn pinched her delicate skin and grew furious as he watched Medda enter the small room, a handsome man wearing a cowboy hat following shortly behind. The man had made quite the impression on Rose when he caught her as she fell; he nearly gave away his hiding place by reaching past the swinging mirror and grabbing Rose out of the man's arm. When the man paused to look into the mirror after bowing in front of Rose, he was able to catch a glimpse of the man who was to become his rival in the singer's affections; with a start, he recognized him – and he was glad that the gasp and growl he emitted were not heard by the room's occupants.

Cowboy was back in town – and he had asked his Rose out on a date.


	4. Chapter 3: The Mirror

Disclaimer: _I own nothing in this story except for the characters of Rose and Caity. The prominent newsie characters, such as Kid Blink, Jack Kelly & Medda, are copyrighted to Disney, while the story is loosely based on Gaston Leroux's novel, _The Phantom of the Opera

**--**

**POINT OF NO RETURN**

_Love._ _Lies. Murder.  
Nothing more than a tragic tale of a disfigured newsboy, a wealthy young man and the vaudeville star they both loved._

**--**

**Chapter Three  
**_The_ _Mirror_

**--**

He stood on the other side of the mirror, almost frozen to his spot. Cowboy had returned and what was the first thing he tried to do? He tried to steal Rose away. After all these years he had devoted to her, he wasn't going to let her slip through his fingers that easily. He reset the plaster mask against his face and turned to head down the passage between the rooms. He would propose himself as her proper suitor before Jack Kelly came back to woo the young starlet. He just needed to retrieve something from his abode first.

---

Almost in a daze Rose watched as Jack exited her small room. She tried not to swoon slightly as she brought her hand to her chest. Her heart rate had quickened when the man awarded her with his handsome grin. It seemed so scandalous that he had been left alone with her in her sleeping quarters but the charm he exuded told her that she was safe with him. The mischievous glint in his eye as he tipped his hat and took his leave told her that she was safe only for now.

She sat down on her bed, aware that a girlish smile was spread across her face. It was almost as if she couldn't help it. Something about Jack Kelly just did that to her. _I don't know what Rae was talking about. Jack Kelly seems practically perfect. _For a moment, Rose wondered if she was letting his attention go to her head.

She shook her head then and decided that she would worry about all that tomorrow. It seemed that so much time has passed since she was on the stage, performing the closing number, but, in reality, it had only been a few hours. Yet she was exhausted.

Slowly she changed out of her dress and reached for her nightgown. She had left the silky white dress resting on the seat off her dresser; it was still there. She dropped her dress onto the floor of her room, too tired to fold it and put it away. _I'll do it tomorrow_, she said and climbed into her bed.

The only light in her room was due to the candle that was flickering on her dresser. She sighed and got out of her bed. She slipped over to the dresser, smiled at her reflection in the mirror once before blowing out the candle. Then she got back into her bed, eager to get some sleep.

She was just about to fall asleep when she heard a brief whisper come from behind her. Her hazel eyes remained shut but she turned her head slightly to better hear the sound. It started softly but, with her attention focused on it, she could hear the words.

_I feel I'm killing time, my life is slipping by  
There has to be someone who feels the same as I  
I long to find a love that's deep and strong and true  
There has to be someone who wants the same things too  
As soon as I find her  
My world will start turning  
But real love is elusive  
That's something I'm learning…_

Whoever it was, they were singing and Rose had never heard such a lovely voice before in her life. She was surrounded by vaudeville performers every night but, for the first time, she heard someone sing a classic piece – the male voice was singing a piece of the _Romeo and Juliet _libretto; a piece that she, herself, would have loved to been able to perform. But vaudeville dancers _don't _sing opera. But, just because it wasn't something she was supposed to do, it didn't mean that it wasn't her passion – or that she didn't know the following part.

She slowly drew herself up from her bed and, despite being in her nightdress, she lit the candle that was on the table next to her bed and looked around the small room. She was alone but couldn't shake the feeling that the owner of the voice was waiting for her to assume Juliet's part.

So she did.

_They say I'm very young, I'm going through a phase  
And I must learn to curb my adolescent ways  
There must be more to life than what my eyes have seen  
But every yesterday becomes a might-have-been  
I am longing  
For someone to hold me  
And tell me while we're dancing  
What no one has told me…_

Her voice started out as soft as his was and shaking. She couldn't help but realize that, as silly as it sounded, she was in her nightdress, singing to a voice she wasn't altogether sure existed. As she recited the familiar lyrics, her voice growing clearer and stronger with each line, she disregarded the strange sense. She lost herself in the melody instead. And, when she sang the last word, she waited, peering out into the darkness. Would her Romeo sing again?

All she heard, at first, was heavy breathing. She strained her ears to see if she could tell where the sound was coming from. She could hear it faintly the longer she listened but could not pinpoint the source of the noise. She was standing now and she knew was alone but she could still hear the man. _Where is he_?

And that's when he began to sing again. He was following the opera and sang the next two lines of the song.

_All days are the same without love  
Sundays, Tuesdays, Thursdays…_

He finished the last word of his part almost on a lilt; it was as if he was daring her to continue. She could hear the heavy breathing again and thought that _maybe_ the voice originated somewhere around her dresser. She turned to face her dresser and, even with the limited amount of light awarded from the single flame, she could make out her reflection. From her brief rest on her bed, her curls were hanging loose around her shoulders, slightly mussed. Her face was flushed at the moment; the excitement of the midnight serenade bringing a shine to her hazel eyes. She watched as her own plump lips parted. Her own sweet voice followed.

_Strange how nothing ever changes  
Summers, springs and winters drift by…_

She waited a moment and, when she heard his voice begin to sing the duet portion of the song, she joined in. The sound of their voices combined was pure and the feeling she experienced at this was even stronger than the giddiness that overwhelmed her at Jack's attention.

_All days are the same without love  
When no one's beside you  
Who cares if the moon seems closer  
Or the stars seem brighter  
All days are the same without love  
But with love the days grow  
Each one's an adventure  
Anything can happen  
No heart ever ages  
Each day's been created  
For you…_

Rose paused in her singing for a second; as the last words were sung it seemed as if his voice was getting louder. _Was he getting closer? _She continued to sing, hoping that maybe he would appear. Her curiosity couldn't take this teasing much longer.

_All days are the same without love  
But with love the days grow  
Each one's an adventure  
Anything can happen  
No heart ever ages  
Each day's been created  
For you…_

At the end of the next part, she paused before the last line of the duet. The voice had gotten much louder then; it seemed to be coming from right in front of her. When she stopped in her singing, she glanced forward at the mirror. What sort of reflection would she see now?

But the mirror was no longer there. Some time during the last few lines of the song, the mirror had, amazingly, been removed. Where the reflective glass had been, all there was was a pitch dark hole leading outwards. She remained at her dresser, leaning away from the passage, though still within distance of the hole. She was in such shock at the disappearance of her mirror that when the last line of the song was sung, the man sang it alone.

_All days are the same without love…_

There was no way to question it now. Without her voice drowning out his, Rose knew immediately where his voice was coming from. Whoever it was, he was waiting outside the hole, somewhere in the dark.

--

Author's Note: _I definitely forgot all about this little piece. I remember starting it when my obsession with _Phantom _emerged but, after I took a break from writing any sort of fiction, I gave this fic up. However, when I started to take up my older stories, I guess I forgot to give this one a go again. Well, here we go. Let's see if this works. Oh, and the lyrics are taken straight from "All days are the same without love", a song from the opera, _Romeo and Juliet


	5. Chapter 4: The Phantom of the Opera

Disclaimer: _I own nothing in this story except for the characters of Rose and Caity. The prominent newsie characters, such as Kid Blink, Jack Kelly & Medda, are copyrighted to Disney, while the story is loosely based on Gaston Leroux's novel, _The Phantom of the Opera.

**--**

**POINT OF NO RETURN**

_Love._ _Lies. Murder.  
Nothing more than a tragic tale of a disfigured newsboy, a wealthy young man and the vaudeville star they both loved._

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**Chapter Four  
**_the Phantom of the Opera_

**--**

He was shaking, he noticed, as he finished the last line of the song, alone. His Rose was not more than a few feet away from him and, if he wanted to, he could reach out and caress her tender flesh. But he wouldn't. He had to wait.

The opportunity would soon be at hand.

He tightened his grip on the damp rag. With that he would ensure Rose's arrival to his hidden away home, high up in the Irving Hall attic.

---

Rose was shaking, she noticed, as she heard that eerily beautiful, and undeniably male, voice sing the last line of 'All days are the same without love'. She found that she was earnestly staring at the darkness, her hazel eyes searching through the gaping hole that had, only moments ago, been her reflection. At that moment, she did not wonder where the mirror's glass had disappeared to; did not wonder to whom the magical voice belonged. All that mattered to Rose was finding the voice and listening to it sing again.

She just knew that, whoever it was, he was out there. The owner of that voice must have used some sort of angel magic – for a voice that pure could only belong to an angel – to remove the mirror and gain entry to her room. The idea was not frightening to the girl. It was exhilarating.

So, despite being dressed in only a white nightdress, despite the sensible part of her brain that called for her to ignore temptation and just climb back into her bed, Rose began to shuffle towards the rather large hole. She made no sound apart from a feverish and quickened breathing pace as she approached her vanity.

A slender hand reached through the gaping hole first. It was met by a much larger hand, gloved and, therefore, veiled from her. A silent shudder erupted at the touch. Any sense she had earlier had gone; she needed to know who was on the other side.

In even her clouded state – her mind clouded, taken in and turned off by the angel's performance; for, who else, but an angel, could release her mind through song? – Rose retained a bit of understanding; but only just a bit. She knew that, in order to find her angel, she needed to climb inside the hole of the one-time mirrored vanity.

Using the stool that sat at the front of the vanity, Rose climbed up. She knelt, not fully putting her weight on the top of the dresser, and her nightdress rode up, revealing a rather large part of flesh. A faint groan came from the darkness. The sound propelled Rose onward.

Again, Rose trusted to put her hands through the hole first. She had never thought to what was hidden behind her room. That vanity had been there since before she came to live with Medda; it had never moved and a large hole cut into the wall had never before been found forr there was no reason to look for it. If she wasn't so fixated at that moment, she might have thought about that. But fixated she was, rather than afraid. And she continued.

The hidden man – angel – grabbed onto Rose's hands as she began to climb through the vanity and into the dark hallway that lay between rooms. His grip was tight about her wrists and traveled with every inch that slipped from the world she knew to the world that beckoned her beyond.

After her head and torso emerged, his hands found their way to her waist. It was trim and she was light; he was able to lift the rest of her through the vanity quite easily.

It was much darker than she had expected. Whoever it was that was hidden in the shadow preferred to remain hidden; her angel did not have a lamp or candle to light his way. It struck her as odd, much odder than the missing mirror and the angelic vocalist.

She squinted, trying to get a look at the man who, now, stood before her, his hands lingering on her waist; a sick certainty inside Rose told her this was a man. It must be – no angel would have hands that shook as nimble fingers caressed her flesh through the simple fabric of a nightdress.

Rose tensed. He was breathing harder now and the sound seemed to wake her up, bring her sense back. She had followed a voice through a hole in the wall and was now face to face with a man. No. Not face to face – she could not see his face.

_Why can't I see his face?_

Her hand, almost of its own accord, gently lifted to touch his face. She need to reassure herself; needed to know that this _was _a man in front of her. He couldn't be an angel, she was sure. That didn't mean it wasn't a demon.

He was too quick for her, though. When her hand began to raise, he backed away and she thought he might have ducked downward. It was hard to tell; he was dressed in dark clothes, with dark gloves extending the lengths of his arm. The only sight she could see was a light blocky texture where his face should be, with dark holes where he would have eyes – if he were, indeed, a man and not a demon.

He moved and Rose began to feel fear. Finally, the magic of his voice seemed to fade and she grew nervous. The walls were thin and, should she scream, there was a good chance that Medda would hear her.

If Medda was even in.

But, before she could scream, or reach for the man – or demon – again, he was back in front of her. Or was he behind her? It was hard for to her to tell anything in such darkness.

He _was _behind her. He lifted his arm and, before she could do anything about it, pressed something to her face, covering both her nose and open mouth. It was a piece of cloth but it was wet, soaked even. It had a strong and strange smell to it, whatever it was that dampened the cloth.

She only had a few moments to ponder the rag's contents before it took effect on her. She did not lose consciousness but her legs no longer seemed to work just then. Though she would have given anything to remain standing, she felt herself slump to the dirt floor.

Her legs were the first to fail her; her mind went next. There seemed to be fog surrounding her and, for the life of her, Rose could not remember what she was doing. Or where she was. The last thing she remembered was blowing out a candle and slipping into bed. Was she, perhaps, dreaming?

_I'm dreaming. I'm in bed, asleep, and I'm dreaming._

However, when the mirror slid gently in place a few moments later, the reflection showed a room, illuminated by a single dancing flame. Rose was no longer inside. Her bed was empty.

---

Rose was not asleep. To be honest, her eyes were not even fully closed when he returned his attention back to the maiden. After breathing in the strange smelling liquid that had drenched his rag, she was light-headed and found herself unable to stand.

As she slumped against the wall, her silky nightdress snagging on the rough texture, she heard his movements. He had lifted something – it was heavy by the grunt the masked man emitted – and a sliding sound followed before she felt a coarse hand reach for her naked arm.

His aim was to help her to her feet but, as hard as she tried, she was unable to do more than bend her knees. He said nothing.

Instead, he bent down and, still without a word, he lifted her into his arms. Rose knew that something was wrong – but what? Everything was so hazy, so dark. And the man – _man? _– was so strong.

Rose laid her head against his shoulder, shrouded in a material so dark that she seemed to be resting against nothingness. Her light brown curls fell forward, loose and free. She thought the man's second hand reached up and fondled a stray curl but she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything.

He made not a sound as he carried her through the darkness and, vaguely, that struck her as odd as well. He was so quiet. _Quiet as a moose._ _No, that's not right. Mouse. Quiet as a mouse._ Then she laughed. It was a queer sound, and she would have been mortified that such a squeal passed her lips – if only she was in her right state of mind.

The sound reverberated against the narrow hallway and the men finally spoke. "Hush," he murmured, his voice low and deep, gruff and hoarse. It was quite different from that angelic sound that she heard before but she did not care.

She didn't care about anything anymore. She was dreaming after all.

---

The masked man – for he is a man, as much as he denies the fact – smiled and nuzzled his neck against her fine hair. It had fallen loose when she lay in bed and he was glad; he always preferred the feel of a woman's hair, unrestricted and free.

The ether had done it's job remarkably. He had poured the anesthetic on a clean rag before holding it over his beloved's mouth; he had shaken at the close contact but he knew that the ruse was necessary. Rose would never come to his home of her own free will. He had to make her love him.

_And I will._

As he looked at the petite girl he was carrying in his arms, he smiled, the expression hidden by the plaster mask.

_I will._

--

Author's Note: _I was stuck on this chapter. I needed to make it realistic – or as realistic as I could make it – while still remaining the 'Phantom'-like feel to it. I hope I succeeded. Also, in case I confused anyone, I was looking at this story the other day and it confused me, having the main character named Jessa. As Jessa is the real name of my OC, Stress, I decided to change the name of this character. So Rose is Jessa. I already went back and changed it in the earlier chapters. _


End file.
